No Lilies For Lisette - Poem by Robert William Service

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Said the Door: "She came inWith no shadow of sin;Turned the key in the lock,Slipped out of her frock,The robe she liked bestWhen for supper she dressed.Then a letter she tore . . .What a wan look she wore!" Said the Door.

Said the Chair: "She sat downWith a pitiful frown,And then (oh, it's queer)Just one lonely tearRolled down her pale cheek.How I hoped she would speakAs she let down her hair," Said the Chair.

Said the Glass: "Then she gazedInto me like one dazed;As with delicate graceShe made up her face,Her cheeks and her lipsWith rose finger-tips,So lovely - alas!Then she turned on the gas." Said the Glass.

Said the Bed: "Down she layIn a weariful way,Like an innocent child,To her fate reconciled;Hands clasped to her breast,In prayer or in rest:'Dear Mother,' she said,Then pillowed her head," Said the Bed.

Said the Room: "Then the gleamOf the moon like a dream,Soft silvered my space,And it fell on her faceThat was never so sweetAs her heart ceased to beat . . .Then the moon fled and gloomFell like funeral plume," Said the Room.

"Just a whore,"Said the Door;"Yet so fair,"Said the Chair;"Frail, alas!"Said the Glass;"Now she's dead,"Said the Bed;"Sorry doom,"Said the Room. . . .

Then they all,Floor and wall,Quiet grew,Ceiling too;Like a tombWas the room;With hushed breathHailing Death:Soul's release,Silence, Peace.